


if i'm to be your camera

by theamazingpeterparker



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Drabble, Fluff, Kinda, M/M, Photography, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, thats it thats literally all this is its fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 10:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3443576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theamazingpeterparker/pseuds/theamazingpeterparker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall gets a Polaroid camera and Zayn visits during their break before tour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if i'm to be your camera

**Author's Note:**

> pretty much 2k of fluff inspired by when zayn posted [this tweet](https://twitter.com/zaynmalik/status/504767426622672896) explaining his [twitter icon](http://31.media.tumblr.com/6d80dfd94fd212d2187b488cd802081a/tumblr_naznyjkRKD1s4fl4no1_500.jpg).
> 
> shoutout to  clare as always for being my cheerleader/enabler.  
> Title is from "Camera" by R.E.M.
> 
> this has been translated into Russian by the lovely [R_Clover](http://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Clover)! you can find that version [here.](https://ficbook.net/readfic/3539362)

Niall wastes his first photo, if he’s being honest, he's only half-heartedly listening to Harry explain film to him when he raises the camera and clicks, doesn’t steady himself or wait for the flash. He’s not expecting it to be a _real_ Polaroid, really, most of the other equipment on the SOML set is fake or turned off just so they won’t break it, but the camera he starts toying with off one of the tables is indeed real when he snaps the picture, pulls the photo out and starts shaking it and Harry practically jumps on him. “Don’t shake it, stand still, use the viewfinder, you just wasted a shot, film is expensive--”

“Come on, Harry, as if I have to worry about _expensive_ \--”

They’re only stopped arguing by Paul, who strolls over and throws Harry over his shoulder because Harry may or may not have purposely switched outfits with Zayn before the shooting started and he still hasn’t changed.

Niall practices on Zayn, just hovers behind the cameramen and waits for them to do a few of the still takes to raise the camera and snap a few pictures when the lighting’s already done up and Zayn’s posed perfectly by the set director, anyway. He gets away with telling everyone he’s just messing around, takes a few of Lux and Harry hanging off Ben and Liam getting Louis in a headlock, Zayn looking at pictures of little Niall. He doesn’t show the photos he takes to anyone, doesn’t tell anyone that he takes the camera home and spends an hour dissecting the camera’s worn labels and another hour on eBay buying five more rolls of film.

He keeps it to himself for a while over the break, only uses it for pictures of Theo and stuff around his house, leaves it on his nightstand where he knows he won’t break it. His entire first roll of film is still sloppy, blurry or he presses the photo too hard and ends up with a fingerprint in the middle of it, still doesn’t quite understand where the lighting should be so it doesn’t come out all white, but he’s getting better. Figures out soon enough that he prefers taking photos of people instead of things, even if it’s a blurry picture of his brother kissing his mum it’s still better than another instagrammed photo of his living room. He starts putting the better pictures out, on the fridge or the bulletin board in his room. There aren’t that many but it makes his home feel more lived in.

Zayn comes over a few nights before the Brits, hasn’t seen Niall since they went on break and Niall thinks he’s missed Zayn the most, probably. The smell of cigarettes that usually clung to everything in Niall’s suitcases had just begun to fade and Niall ended up with three of Zayn’s shirts and a pair of sweats lost in with his clothes that he never bothered returning once they were on break, probably won’t return them unless Zayn asks. (They both know Zayn’s not going to ask, that he loves when Niall wears his shirts only because they’re close enough in size that they can get away with it.) Even though they all haven't kept constantly in touch over break there’s still a text from Zayn every day, _good morning sunshine xx_ even if it’s three in the afternoon and Niall’s been up since nine.

Zayn’s got a habit of poking around whenever he comes over, has always loved Niall’s place only because Niall is the only one who has stuff out on display, their VMAs and Brits and plaques all lined up on the shelves surrounding his TV, shuffles his posters and knick-knacks around every time he gets home just for a change of pace. Niall does his best to stay sprawled on the couch while Zayn wanders off towards the kitchen, finds himself smiling for no reason other than there’s someone else here> Knowing it's one of the boys shuffling around down the hall, _his_ boy dropping something in the kitchen and there’s a muffled _fuck_ from the doorway and he doesn’t realize it until then but Niall’s so lonely here sometimes, during these breaks where they’re expected to hang out but Harry’s halfway across the world and Liam’s off somewhere with Sophia and Louis and Zayn are intent on just sleeping through their time off.

“When did you take this?” Zayn is laughing from the doorway, holding one of the polaroids from the SOML set that was on the fridge and Niall just smiles back at him, “nicked a camera from the set and was messing around with it,” he admits with a shrug, “I’ve become a professional photographer of Theo, though, want to see?” Zayn nods, of course Zayn nods, lets Niall lead him down the hall to his room.

Niall’s got a big bulletin board above his computer desk, old festival bracelets that have frayed and fallen off and tickets to awards shows and concerts and his X-Factor number tag, any and every piece of this life that’s somehow become his is overlapping on the board and he’s somehow managed to tack on new polaroids, too. Theo and Greg and his parents and blurry pictures of when Josh and Deo came over to watch derby with him, another stray few from the airport before break with Zayn on Liam’s back and Harry sleeping at their gate. Niall moves to sit on his bed before he can start fidgeting, hasn’t ever felt self-conscious around Zayn but just needs to step back and let him look on his own. Leans over to his nightstand and grabs the camera, clicks one of Zayn and doesn’t realize the flash is on until Zayn flinches and turns around with brows raised.

“Is this going to be a new hobby, then?”

*

Zayn stays over, lets Niall make them both pasta because he still hasn’t bothered properly stocking his pantry over break anyway and they end up on Niall’s bed watching _Zombieland_ , Niall complaining through the first five minutes because _Goodfellas_ is playing on the channel above but Zayn keeps a hand over Niall’s mouth to keep him quiet, doesn’t move it even though Niall licks and bites at his palm. He tastes like smoke and salt.

Zayn’s always the one who falls asleep first, makes it an hour into the movie and Niall’s making a comment about Emma Stone’s hair when Zayn snuffles into Niall’s hair, lets out a garbled sound that Niall knows translates to _turn it down_ and wraps his arms tighter around Niall, drags him to his chest and flaps a hand in the air until Niall pulls the blankets up over both of them.

Niall wakes up before Zayn, naturally, slips out from under the weight of his tattooed arm and across the hall to the bathroom. The TV’s still on in the bedroom, can hear the theme song to some cartoon when he braces himself against the cool hardwood of the hallway after his shower. Zayn’s still curled up in the blankets, rolled over with Niall’s pillow to his chest and his hair getting longer, fluffed around the sheets and tickling down the nape of his neck and over his ears. The only thing better than a posing Zayn is a sleeping Zayn. Niall sneaks around the side of the bed for his camera, tugs opens the curtains just enough. He only takes a few pictures, tosses the photos to his desk before they even develop so he can crawl back into bed, presses his wet hair against Zayn’s neck until he squirms and shoves at Niall, grumbles _getoff, coffee_ and burrows deeper into the bed.

Niall brings his boxes of Froot Loops and Rice Krispies into the bedroom with two bowls, goes back out to the kitchen for their coffees and when he comes back Zayn’s sitting up in bed, shirt abandoned on the floor from where Niall’s hair got it wet and he’s munching happily on a bowl of krispies. They put more sugar in their cereal than they do in their coffees, Zayn sighs wistfully when Niall asks if he remembers that hotel room in Atlanta, the day off spent eating sugary american cereals and bingewatching a Simpsons marathon. Niall wishes he had his camera then but he has it now, gives Zayn a goofy grin and shouts “Smile!” and gets a shot of Zayn with a mouthful of krispies, cheeks puffed up and eyes crinkling when he tries to smile without opening his mouth.

Niall’s sitting with the developing photo on his knee, waiting for it to show when Zayn leans over, kisses him on the cheek and by the time Niall looks up Zayn’s back to watching TV even though he can’t quite hide the tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Zayn pins Niall to the mattress after breakfast, sits up above him with the camera and pokes Niall in the ribs until he starts laughing, clicks the camera the same way Niall first did the first time, wrong and rushed, lets the photo fall into the sheets next to them and pulls Niall into a kiss, drags his shirt up over his head and presses his thumbs into Niall’s hips.

There’s a lot that Niall wishes he could photograph that afternoon, the heart on Zayn’s hip and the muscles in his wrist and his mouth. He settles for clicking a picture of Zayn’s back, he’s sprawled on his stomach with the blankets pooled around his hips and his fantail tattoo poking out from his hair and pillow, Niall tries to be as subtle as he can but Zayn stirs anyway, rolls over and grabs Niall’s ankle before he can squirm away.

“enough with the pictures?” he says, not a command but a suggestion and Niall just pouts.

“One more,” Niall finally pleads, Zayn’s rubbing circles into the bone at his ankle and he’s so soft, looks young and golden against Niall’s dark blue blankets and he wants to remember this in a way that’s different than the hundreds of photos on his phone or recounted stories from the tour bus. Wants it to be just for them.

Zayn bits his lip, scrubs a hand over his face the way he does when he’s about to give into whatever it is Niall’s asking. “Mmmk,” he hums, taps a finger against the scar at Nialls knee, stretches his arms above his head and gives Niall his sultry smile. “Just for you, Ni.”

Niall grins, clicks one of Zayn’s Bedroom Pose and sets the camera aside, rolls off of him to collect the small stack of pictures that are scattered throughout the bed while Zayn shifts, reaches to the nightstand for his cigarettes. Niall sneaks his camera up again, turns and takes one carelessly and quick of this Zayn, caught off guard sitting up with his matchbook, cigarette caught between his lips. It’s a little out of focus and darker than the previous one and Zayn shoots him a dirty look afterwards. Starts smiling as soon as Niall crawls back across the bed and kisses him, though.

“Your new hobby is going to get us into trouble,” Zayn laughs into Niall’s mouth and it’s his favorite taste, only hums and breaks apart to wave the polaroid print in front of Zayn. “Only for my collection, Zayn,” Niall promises, crosses his heart. Zayn contemplates it, finally nods exhales the smoke slowly from his nostrils. Niall’s sheets are going to smell like cigarettes for weeks and he could just change the blankets, but he won’t.


End file.
